Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Five things I'm grateful for after what may be the oddest week in America and with what could be, to put it mildly, called some challenges with mobility, are:

Technology. I cut out cable a while back for cost purposes, but even if I'd had it, I'm not sure I'd have been glad to rely on it with so many errors as the Boston bombing events unfolded.

The Hidden Protectors. I'm so grateful for those beautiful first responders during these attacks, and those who were gracious and generous outside of their jobs, but I'm always more aware than ever during times like these of the people in our military and intelligence communities who give of their lives to protect our freedoms on a regular basis, so we don't have to see the ugliness we witnessed last week.

Safety. This might seem pretty obvious, but it's really something we take for granted. From keeping OSHA inspectors away to Boston bombers, there are many people who care less about our safety, and it makes me grateful for those who are on top of it.

Sunshine. Because life's better with brighter days.

Compassion. These times bring out the best and worst in us (terror on a grand scale, limited mobility on a MUCH smaller one), but compassion overrides that, and my cup overflows when I have it and when I receive it.

Monday, April 15, 2013

For the past couple of years, I've joked that when my bum foot heals, I'll be like Forest Gump and run until I can't stop.

Time travel a few years back, pre-broken toe and pre-Stupid Foot, when I discovered Boston with some friends on vacation.

Paul Revere's house

(By "discover," I mean "fell in love." And by "vacation," I mean "my go-to if I ever needed to change identities.")

Even though with this confession the jig's up on my first-choice hideaway spot, hopefully it gives you an idea of how hard I fell for this gorgeous gem of a town. Town? It's a city. Well, a city, and a mere historical landmarkof our entire nation.

Site of the Boston Massacre

Paul Revere's childhood home. The Freedom Trail. Faneuil Hall. Boston Commons. Harvard. The site where the Declaration of Independence was signed. The first public school. The USS Constitution.

You know. A few significant locations.

Not everyone loves the feel and sounds and people and sights of Boston, and I get that. (I mean, I loved it even though it froze my face off, but I may not love running like I think I will, and a lot of people do even when it blisters their feet every.single.day.)

First Public School

But I did love Boston. Even though it's been six years since I visited, I'm pretty sure if you dropped me there, it would take me a little while to get my bearings, but I'd be smiling.

So today when I heard that people who are doing what they love and what I am admiring so hard these days were literally jarred by explosions that rocked this place I adore....well...what in the world.

Faneuil Hall

Without getting into the why-does-craziness-occur of it all, Boston? To runners? At the finish line? On Patriots' Day?

Too much sadness. Too much heaviness.

Where the Declaration of Independencewas signed

And thanks to having been there (and maybe a few other non-vacation, figurative locations these past six years), I understand there is too much life to live for me to waste the freedom that so much of Boston was originally marked with by letting the sadness and heaviness get the best of me.

The 2007 version of RJchilin' with Ben Franklin

I hate with everything in me that anyone wants to rip anyone's freedom away, whether it's a bully on the playground or a terrorist at a marathon.

I also hate that I ever let someone else's wound keep me from fighting for and enjoying my own freedom that is so viciously guarded to this day.

Beacon Hill

Boston is dear to me. Its people, flavors, and flair stole my heart, and I was only there for a few days.

Freedom is also dear to me. I admire those runners for expressing themselves today by accepting the invitation to be among an elite group of athletes who willingly wreck themselves to experience health and happiness.

I hope I will remember the fervor of runners when I'm tempted to give up. And I hope I will remember the freedom Boston memorializes that says I don't have to give up. Ever.

Dear Boston, thank you for the memories -- of that visit, and of how strongly I feel about my country's foundation. And dear marathoners, thank you for the reminder to keep going.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

April is National Poetry Month, and the twittering brilliance of @brainpicker (Maria Popova) uncovers this lovely handwritten bit from 13-year-old Charlotte Brontë:

I’ve been wandering in the greenwoods
And mid flowery smiling plains
I’ve been listening to the dark floods
To the thrushes thrilling strains
I have gathered the pale primrose
And the purple violet sweet
I’ve been where the Asphodel grows
And where lives the red deer fleet.
I’ve been to the distant mountain,
To the silver singing rill
By the crystal murmering mountain,
And the shady verdant hill.
I’ve been where the poplar is springing
From the fair inamelled ground
Where the nightingale is singing
With a solemn plaintive sound.

April is National Poetry Month, and the twittering brilliance of @brainpicker (Maria Popova) uncovers this lovely handwritten bit from 13-year-old Charlotte Brontë:

I’ve been wandering in the greenwoods
And mid flowery smiling plains
I’ve been listening to the dark floods
To the thrushes thrilling strains
I have gathered the pale primrose
And the purple violet sweet
I’ve been where the Asphodel grows
And where lives the red deer fleet.
I’ve been to the distant mountain,
To the silver singing rill
By the crystal murmering mountain,
And the shady verdant hill.
I’ve been where the poplar is springing
From the fair inamelled ground
Where the nightingale is singing
With a solemn plaintive sound.